One cold night
by Lythande1972
Summary: In Season 5 Episode 10, Kilgharrah rescued Merlin where he lies bleeding at the top of a watchtower in the middle of the night. But what if the dragon were not able to come? Who would rescue Merlin?
1. Chapter 1

The first thing Merlin noticed was that he was cold.

There was a chilly wind across his face. His hands felt numb. And he was so stiff. So tired.

He shivered.

Where was he?

Slowly, he tried to make the gears in his mind turn. His eyes were closed. Was he asleep? He seemed to be outside. He thought hard, trying to remember.

He tried to turn his head and it barely moved. He felt weak and sick. He tried again, this time trying to use his stomach muscles again, maybe to sit up.

That didn't work. Pain pushed through his side, taking his breath away. He fell back. With the pain came sudden memories - of Finna. Of Morgana. Of the arrow and the sword.

He grimaced in sadness.

Yes. He was alone on the roof of a watchtower. He had heard Finna die. Her bloodstains, mixed with his own, lay dry and dark one floor beneath him. He'd collapsed on that roof and called for the dragon. And then he had passed out.

But where was Kilgharrah?

Merlin's luck seemed to have run out.

He could not say how long he had lain there, unknowing. There was no more moon in the sky. It must have been hours. But the great dragon had not come.

Shivering, he tried to curl himself into a tighter position. Nothing worked. His body felt frail, weak, broken. He kept shivering and couldn't stop. He felt himself still sluggishly bleeding from the arrow wound. He tried to heal himself, murmuring an incantation, his eyes glowing in the night.

It didn't work. It never did.

Healing, he thought wryly, had never been one of his gifts.

I don't want to die here, he thought. I have to get back to Arthur. I have to protect him.

I will call for the dragon again, he thought. He coughed, drawing the words from his parched throat. And more importantly, as always, he reached out with his mind. _Come, my old friend! I am in my hour of greatest need. Hear my call, O great winged one!_

He called, coughing and retching, and called again. His eyes flashed with fire and he breathed hard with the effort.

But no one came. The great dragon did not hear him, or could not hear him.

Worry pushed into Merlin's thoughts. Kilgharrah had never failed him. Something, or someone, must be keeping the dragon from coming. There would be no help from the skies tonight.

Merlin felt his shivers deepen. He was beginning to wonder if he would indeed last much longer, freezing and bleeding in a tiny bloody ball on this cold stone roof.

He was so tired, and so cold…

He felt his mind drift. He found himself thinking of Arthur. His dearest Arthur. Arrogant prat; noble king. Merlin's closest friend. His destiny.

Would that Arthur could fly and come to his rescue!

Arthur.

Rescue.

His thoughts were cold and tired and leaden, but somehow, slowly, he realized that his brain was trying to tell him something...what was it?

Arthur.

He could call to Arthur.

Could he?

Well, why not? He had nothing to lose; he would be dead on this roof within days.

He closed his tired eyes and reached his mind out to Arthur.

 _Help me, my friend…_

He tried with all he had to send his thoughts to the one man he hoped could hear him; could reach him; could find him.

Could bring him home.

 _Arthur..._


	2. Chapter 2

_Merlin!_

Arthur sat up in bed, confused and - well - more than a little scared. What? What happened? Who?

He blinked and looked around. He was in his chambers. All was calm. Silent.

It was the middle of the night...no, it was very early morning. He could see the faint blue light through his shutters. He turned his head. There was his darling Gwen, lying in the warm pocket he'd left, her curls fanned out grandly on her pillow. He let his eyes linger on her face. He tried to calm his heart, which, he realized, was beating rather more quickly than it should have been.

What had woken him?

He'd been dreaming...he tried to remember...

Of Merlin?

That's absurd. What is that idiot doing in my dreams? Disturbing the sleep of his King? I'll thrash him good, he thought belligerently.

He was trying to rid himself of his unease.

It didn't work.

The dream had left a taste of panic in his mouth. What was it? What had happened in his dream to upset him so?

A rooftop...a broken body...

It was all fading now. Anyway, it was rubbish. He'd probably eaten too many pickles at dinner.

He forced himself to sigh, to relax. To lay back down. He squeezed his arm under Gwen's head. She murmured and allowed him to re-adjust her, burrowing her head into his neck. He felt her nuzzle him and held her close. He kissed her hair. Listened as she slept.

He hoped the nasty feeling of fear in his gut would dissipate soon.

It didn't, really.

-

An hour later he was still awake and still uneasy. He finally gave up trying to sleep. That damn Merlin could use some extra work anyway.

He threw on a leather shirt and leaned over to kiss Gwen. He was hoping very much that she'd wake up, but she only murmured, her eyes closed. He smiled, feeling strangely sad, and let her sleep, closing the door quietly behind him.

In the hallway it was still early. The blue dawn had become a clear, cold, pale yellow morning. The few servants he passed were busy building the day's fires. The air was fresh and chilly on his nose.

He trotted down the castle stairs and over to the Court physician's quarters, pulling on his gloves.

He pushed open the door and strolled in, paying, as usual, little heed to the privacy or sleeping hours of others. "Merlin!" He bellowed.

There was no response.

"Merlin! You buffoon, get out of bed!" He wasn't sure if it was lack of sleep or something else that made his tone so snappish. He tried to hide his worry with more irritation. "MER-"

He stopped as Gaius poked his head out of his covers from his bed in the corner, looking alarmed. "Sire?" He fumbled to get up. "Sire, what is the matter?"

Instantly Arthur felt a little chagrined. "No- no. Mm...I'm sorry Gaius. There's no emergency. I just - I just want to get off to an early start today. Mm. Is - is Merlin here?"

Gaius huffed with a little badly-hidden annoyance and relaxed back into his bed. "No, Sire. I thought he spent the night in his quarters in the Castle with you." He frowned. "He wasn't with you?"

"No."

"Hmmm." Arthur suddenly found something very interesting to look at past Gaius' head, over his shoulder. Gaius, too, seemed to be going out of his way to avoid eye contact.

"Well, um...tell him that I'm looking for him." Arthur reached again for his most cocky self, trying not to feel completely lost. Why on earth was he so worried about that buffoon Merlin? "When you see him, tell him he'll lose his job and end up in the stocks if he doesn't show up soon."

Both men were relieved when Arthur took his leave and ducked out the door.

Arthur decided to go out for a ride. Maybe that would help him shake off this feeling.

Gaius watched the door where Arthur had been, lost in thought and a little worried himself. Where _was_ Merlin?


	3. Chapter 3

The morning air was still brisk and fresh an hour later as Arthur gently pulled on the reins, slowing his horse to a walk. He _did_ feel much better.

The hills were a glorious green, the sun was warm on his face, and he was refreshed. The nightmare was all but forgotten.

He spied a stream tucked into the trees and urged his mount that way. With a sigh of pleasure he dismounted and scooped himself a cool drink. He'd left the castle in such consternation he hadn't even grabbed his own wineskin. The drink was delicious after a hard ride. Next to him his horse was up to her nostrils, grunting happily.

He stood, wiping the water from his chin like a peasant, and found himself smiling broadly. The castle walls would never equal the natural beauty of his kingdom. He was so proud of his lands. He stretched his arms out widely; raised his closed eyes to the sky to soak in the sun.

Then suddenly he was somewhere else...

 _Arthur..._

The vision hit him like a brick. He saw a rooftop. A watchtower. And Merlin, still and tiny against the stones. Bleeding. Dying or dead.

 _Arthur..._

It faded.

Arthur was still in the forest, still himself, alone.

He staggered and sat hard in a rock, trembling. It was hard to breathe. He was scared, then anger rushed in to rescue him, to focus him. He knew - he felt it in his gut - this was sorcery. This was _sorcery!_

Someone was trying to get him to believe that Merlin was hurt. That Merlin needed him.

Monstrous. It was a trap. It had to be. Someone was trying to lure the King of Camelot to an evil purpose.

"Well, it won't work!" He yelled into the empty forest. "Do you hear me, Morgana? It won't work!"

His voice echoed back to him.

He realized how alone he was, and his fear rose again to match his anger.

Breathing heavily, he pushed the fear down and let the rage give him strength. He was so angry he barely remembered throwing himself on his horse and riding back to the castle.


	4. Chapter 4

Arthur was pushing his horse at a hard gallop as he entered Camelot's central court. There was no sign of Merlin in the courtyard.

Arthur dismounted while the animal was still trotting and threw the reins to a waiting stable girl, not even glancing to see if she caught them.

He ran straight to the Court physician's office. For the second time that day, he burst in uninvited. But Arthur was as scared as he was angry. His imperious tones from this morning somehow eluded him, and he almost sounded as if there were something in his throat as he called, "Merlin?"

The rooms were empty. There was not even Gaius to calm his fears.

"Dammit!" He swore and left. He raced through the courtyard with his head down, his mind whirling.

Across the courtyard Gaius was returning from a delivery. Arthurs's silhouette caught his eye. The physician watched, silently, as the Prince disappeared into the palace, obviously agitated. And he wondered.

In his chambers, Arthur paced. He had never faced anything like this before. What should he do? What *could* he do?

He tried to calm himself and think logically.

If Merlin were here in the city, then at least the prince would know that his servant was safe, and that the visions were indeed evil. There. That was a good first step.

He sent a chambermaid to find Merlin. "Don't stop until you find him. Ask everyone."

He wouldn't let himself think about what he would do if Merlin wasn't found.

Arthur refused to talk to Gwen or anyone else about what was bothering him. He spent the next few hours in a fouler and fouler mood. Merlin continued to not be found.

It was mid-afternoon when Arthur heard a knock on the door.

"Come."

Gwaine's head appeared in the doorway. His usual prankster face looked more somber today. "Sire, are you looking for Merlin?"

Arthur felt his breathing speed up. Was there hope? "Yes."

"Sire, I wanted to tell you when I last - when we all last saw him. The patrol. Me, Leon, Mordred, Elyan, Percival. He was with us two nights ago. We all went to sleep together-"

"And?" Arthur had no patience for this to be drawn out. He felt his hands grip the table too tightly.

"Um - he was gone when we awoke yesterday morning, sire. Mordred told us he left in the middle of the night. Said Merlin said he had work to do, sire." Gwaine looked down at his gauntlets, a sad look on his face. He knew this was not good news. "No one has seen him since."

Arthur's vision clouded, and he felt his heartbeat in his ears. He sank back into a chair. It was true, then. Merlin was missing. Perhaps he was already dead.

"Dammit!" he hissed again, slamming hist fist into the wall.

In spite of his instincts, Gwaine tried to hope for the best. "He may only be gathering herbs, sire. Or perhaps he went to visit one of the outer villages?"

"No." Arthur's voice was flat. It was time to face the truth. "No, Merlin's in trouble."

At least now he knew what he had to do.

"Assemble the knights in the council room. And bring Gaius, too."

Merlin felt death lying next to him as the sun grew high in the sky.

It was too cold and cloudy of a season for the sun to be much help, but each time its warmth was able to reach him, he was thankful. He was beginning to realize that these were his last hours. He would not live to feel the sun on his face another day.

Overnight, a weight had settled in his chest. It made his breath come in little gasps, and there didn't seem to be enough air.

He wanted to move. To roll over. To get up and leave this roof and return to those he loved.

But he was too weak.

He could not raise a bloodstained hand. He could not even brush away the tear that found its way down his cheek before it was lost in the dust.

I'm so sorry, Arthur, he thought.

I am supposed to protect you. I am supposed to help you be the king you are destined to be. But somehow I made a terrible mess of things. It was all fine until yesterday. Yesterday ruined everything.

Gods, I'm such an idiot. How could I let this happen?

All this time, all my efforts, coming to naught. So many times I was sure it was the end; but perhaps this time it really will be.

Mine.

He felt his head spinning, the dizziness dragging him down. He had no strength to fight it. He drifted. He had no idea how much time had passed.

His thoughts wandered...past Arthur...to all of the people he had loved, in his short, wild, wonderful, terrifying life.

He thought of his mother. His father. Freya. Gaius, and Gwaine. Elyan and Percival. And sweet, smart, brilliant Gwen. All so dear to him.

He let their faces fill his head. He took comfort in knowing that these were good people, and he had loved them. And he loved Arthur. That damned spoiled clotpole had really turned out well. He was a good King.

If only I could have lived long enough to help magic return to Camelot...

Goodbye, he thought, to each of you. I'll -

The thought was never finished. Darkness filled his mind and he went limp.

Leaves blew around his body as he lay, still and tiny. He was entirely alone. The sun had forsaken him and the day was grey and unforgiving. His blood stained the stones beneath him.

Arthur looked solemnly at all of his most trusted friends, and his beloved queen, as they sat around the council table.

He cleared his throat. His hands felt clammy. He took a breath and made himself be a king.

"I have brought you here today because...because I don't know what to do."

Pause.

"I have reason to believe that...Merlin is wounded and needs our help."

Eyebrows went up. Voices chattered questions. The room grew very noisy - Arthur silenced them with a hand.

"It is very hard for me to tell you this, because I have none of the sort of proof that would usually provide us with the information we need. All we know is, he snuck off from your patrol two nights ago when you were *supposed* to be keeping him safe."

He allowed himself a shadow of a glower of disappointment towards the Knights, but just a shadow. He knew they were already blaming themselves.

He put a neutral expression back on his face. "Since then, he has not been seen...except..."

Arthur paused. He did not want to say it. He did not want to talk about this. What if he were wrong? What if he, Arthur, were the one who was enchanted? What if the vision was not real?

He forced himself to swallow his pride. Merlin was in trouble. A good King would not be scared to tell the truth. And yet it was so hard to say the next words.

But then he felt Gwen's hand gently move onto his.

No matter how much hard labor she had done before becoming queen, the softness of her hands always surprised him. He turned his head to look at her. To get strength from her.

Gwaine could not wait for Arthur to collect his thoughts. He had to burst in. "Except what?"

Arthur swallowed. "Um...

"This...is hard for me. But I feel sure that...sorcery is involved."

The room buzzed again with reactions. Arthur held up his hand for quiet.

"In the past twelve hours,..." You can do this, he thought. Just tell them.

"I...I have had two visions of Merlin."

Gwen gasped and he instantly wished he'd confided in her hours ago. What a fool he was sometimes.

He had to raise his hand again to be heard.

"I have seen him, once last night, and once this morning. If these visions are to be believed, he is very badly hurt. I expect if we don't find him today he will not last the night."

Arthur paused, feeling desperate and uneasy.

"I...I am not an expert in sorcery. Or visions. If I were sure that they were real, I would have planned a search party hours ago. But we cannot ignore the fact that in this kingdom sorcery has only ever been a source of death and despair."

His voice grew more confident.

"I cannot swear to you that these visions show the truth. I cannot swear that Merlin still lives or even that he has not been dead since he left your camp two days ago. Perhaps he is not wounded at all. Perhaps there is a sorcerer who wishes us to think so, to draw us into a trap. Or perhaps Merlin *is* hurt, and dying, and it is *still* a trap."

Arthur sighed.

"Regardless, I have brought you here to tell you that I intend to go after him."

"But Sire!" Sir Leon could not hold himself back any longer. "Camelot can not afford to have her king led into a trap by a sorcerer. Morgana must not win. You must reconsider."

Elyan jumped in. "You must send us."

"Yes." "Yes, send us. We'll bring Merlin back safe."

Arthur silenced them all. "Yes," he agreed. "You are all correct.

"Let me tell you, then, why I am going.

He swallowed.

"If this is a trap, then it is meant for me. I doubt this sorcerer - be it Morgana or another - has any interest in any of you. Which means after she kills you, she'll just come after me again.

"What she does to my subjects, she does to me. I am not -"

Arthur stopped himself. Even after all he'd suffered, he would not make public criticism of his father.

He tried again. "I won't send you all to die needlessly. It seems I go, or no one does. And I -"

He paused again.

"Merlin is very dear to all of us, and a good friend to me. I have thought long and hard today about the risk I will take to rescue him, and I have decided that he would do no less for me. And - and - as his King, I cannot sit here safely when clearly it is only my presence that will satisfy this - " his mouth took an ugly, hard line -" this sorcerer."

He turned to Gaius. "Gaius, I should like -"

But in an instant the room went black-

and then grey -

\- and Arthur was outdoors, on a roof, and Merlin lay dying before him.

*No!* Arthur tried to scream but all was silence.

He saw his friend's still body and bloodied clothes. He saw the sunken eyes, the shallow breathing. And yet Arthur couldn't move, he couldn't help, he couldn't -

He blinked and found himself back in the council chambers, hunched over the table. He was drenched in sweat. His heart was ringing in his chest like the great warning bells. The room felt tilted, somehow.

He struggled to calm his frantic breathing. He reached for Gwen's hand - and she snatched it back.

Startled, he turned to look at her face.

She was white with horror, and breathing as heavily as he. She seemed to not recognize him for a moment. Then her eyes returned to his, and he saw her return to herself.

"Arthur!" She cried aloud. "Arthur!" He found himself folding her into his arms, unheeding of anything else in the room. He pressed his lips into her hair, and held her tight. He felt her shaking in his arms.

"Arthur," she whispered. "Arthur, I saw him. Merlin. He said goodbye to me. Arthur, he's dying, it's true! Of course we must do something!"

Arthur pulled back from her and stared in her face. "You had - you saw - it's not just me?"

"No!" She grabbed his arm and touched his cheek. She was still trembling. "No, not just you."

"Sire, look around this room." It was Gaius' voice, clear and calm, cutting though the pandemonium.

Arthur looked. He saw six terrified faces.

Four knights with their hands on the bolts of their swords, ready to fight invisible foes. One court physician looking as somber and alarmed as Arthur had ever seen. And Gwen's face, as her breathing slowed, still so worried.

And he realized.

"You - you all? Just now...?"

"Yes," said Gaius. "It seems pretty clear that we all just saw Merlin."

They all began to chatter.

"On a roof."

"No, he was in a courtyard."

"No, it was definitely a roof."

"Is he dead?"

"I dunno, I felt like he was saying goodbye."

"I fear he's dead. He looked dead."

Arthur shushed them all. And with a feeling of relief he knew one thing: he was no longer uncertain.

Knowing that others had seen it made it real. He was not crazy, or enchanted and alone. He was more determined than ever to ride out and find Merlin, wherever he lay.

Arthur began to bark orders.

"We have four hours of daylight left. I ride as soon as I can get a horse. I have no idea what I will face. Percival, I ask you to stay in the castle, supervise the guards, and stay sharp. Who knows what may return from this mission.

"I ask for volunteers. No one will be punished who does not ride with me."

Not a one stepped back.

For the first time that day, Arthur smiled.


	5. Chapter 5

Everyone who had seen the vision agreed: the rooftop they'd seen was a watchtower.

There were twenty-two watchtowers within a day's ride of the castle.

Arthur, Gwen, Gaius, and the knights sat with maps and calculated while the horses were prepared. Arthur narrowed the list of likely towers to those within a day's walk of the last place Merlin had been seen. That left 10 candidates. With luck and strong horses, they could hope to visit six of those in the next three hours before dusk. Maybe two more before it would be completely dark.

Would it be enough?

Was Merlin going to be in one of these places? Was he in any of these towers at all?

Arthur had his doubts. But he saw no other path; so he made his peace with it, and prayed to his Gods that they would be lucky, and that Merlin would be lucky.

They rode out in silence. Their faces were drawn, their hearts heavy. As soon as they were outside the city they pushed their horses as fast as they could, five red capes billowing behind.

The first six watchtowers were completely empty. They were covered in years of undisturbed dust with no footprints larger than a bird's. The knights investigated each anyway, but found no sign of Merlin, nor indeed anything else useful. Each was the same as the last.

The sun dipped low in the sky. The sixth tower was as empty and undisturbed as the others; and Arthur fought back a sense of despair.

He called to the others. "We've made good time. Let's press on to at least one more." No man argued. Off they rode, urging the horses to their top speeds.

They saw the seventh tower from the top of a ridge, just as the dusk began to settle into the valley below. They rode down, slipping below the last rays of the sunset into a darker, more dangerous world. Arthur shivered and pressed his horse forward.

This tower was different.

It had recently been visited by many booted feet. The stairs up to the main door were wiped almost clean, the cobwebs torn aside.

The early evening rang with the quiet sound of five swords leaving their scabbards. But there forest around them was still, and there was not a breath of noise from within the tower. It seemed abandoned.

After a long wait, they dismounted. Together the Knights and their king crept towards the decrepit stairs.

They entered the first chamber and could see the path before them, leading to the staircase. The room was undisturbed but for the stripe cut through the dust in the floor, connecting the door with the stairs, left by twenty pairs of boots.

And. There was one other thing that Arthur found. A few drops of dried blood. Not very old, sitting on top of the dust.

He touched it with his finger and frowned. Then he signaled to keep moving.

Slowly they crept through the room, always listening.

The second floor had been ransacked. Furniture overturned and what was left of draperies shredded. But no living thing remained.

The knights followed their unknown quarry through that room and up another flight of stairs.

The third floor was full of blood. A giant pool of it had dried in the middle of the floor, and been smeared as a body was dragged away.

"Merlin," gasped Gwaine.

Arthur shook his head. This was not the roof. This was not where Merlin died. He made himself believe that. And then -

"Your highness," called Elyan quietly. He was in front of the last staircase in the tower. The one that would lead to the roof.

Arthur came over and saw what Elyan saw. One set of footprints. And one trail of blood.

He gripped his sword harder, and gestured to the knights to listen for a moment. It occurred to him how vulnerable they all were, trapped in the third floor of a tower in the middle of an empty valley as night fell, Miles from home.

But no one came; nothing even rustled. And so they crept up that final staircase. Arthur went first, sword at the ready, stepping over the threshold out into the night air. The cobblestones were slippery under his boots. The moon was full and bright.

And it was there that they found him.


	6. Chapter 6

If Arthur hadn't already know what he was seeking, he might have mistaken Merlin for a pile of dirty clothes abandoned in the moonlight.

The king slipped and nearly fell in his haste to reach his friend. The three knights behind Arthur heard his cry of joy and sped up their pace, pouring out of the door in a pile of chain-mail-covered legs and arms. They quickly spread out defensively, swords high. Surely if this were a trap, now would be the time they would be attacked -

But the night remained empty. The only sound was the wind.

It was Arthur who turned to Merlin first. His triumph at his successful quest quickly turned cold and still at the sight of what was left of Merlin.

The warlock's face was an empty, dead grey. His eyes were deeply sunken under heavy lids. His hands lay long and limp against the stones. There was blood everywhere, smeared on Merlin's face and fingers and coating the side of his tunic. He rasped when he breathed.

But...he breathed.

He breathed.

"He lives! We are not too late!" called Arthur, in a voice that would not lose its shake. He felt emotions swirling in him out of control - relief, pride, fear, hope, dread, despair...

With a focused effort he made his voice steady this time. "Quickly, we must get him to the horses."

It was Gwaine and Elyan who quickly bound Merlin's wound. It was Arthur who carried the limp Merlin down three flights of stairs. Arthur's face was drawn and grim as he moved between watching over his knights and keeping an eye out for any possible foes, for that very real possibility of a magical attack.

And yet, none came.

It was truly night, now. The full moon granted them some sweet bluish light among the shadows.

It was decided that the safest place for the warlock to ride in haste would be in front of another rider. Gwaine volunteered for the first shift, and they bound Merlin to him with strips of leather. Gwaine placed an arm around his friend, and signaled his horse. As swiftly as they could, they began the long climb up out of the valley.

Gwaine held Merlin tightly, his face tight with worry. His friend was so still, so limp...He had not been been so concerned about Merlin since the day the warlock had lost a battle with the Dorocha.

He survived that night, Gwaine told himself. The only man to *ever* survive an attack from the Dorocha. He will recover from this, too. He *will.*

Gwaine was not doing a very good job of convincing himself.

The knight urged his horse faster, and he prayed.

An hour later they stopped to give Gwaine's aching arms a rest. Leon took the next shift, gently cradling the friend he'd known for longer than any other knight but Arthur.

An hour after that, it was Arthur who chose to carry Merlin home.

Not once in their journey did they encounter any living creature, magical or not. The world was asleep around them.

Exhaustion crept nearer to Arthur as the miles past. He had slept badly, and had been riding hard for the better part of nearly five hours. It seemed as if he rode in a dream. He held his friend close and tried to stay focused, to stay alert...

He did not feel himself again until he heard his horse's hooves clattering in the main square of the citadel.

Gaius, Percival, and Gwen came running out to meet them. Their faces shone with joy as they spied Merlin in the prince's arms - then fell as they realized he was indeed as wounded as they had seen so many hours ago.

Merlin was gently lowered from Arthur's horse into Percival's arms. "Careful," Arthur murmured, as he cradled the warlock's head.

Percival turned and carried Merlin into the Court Physician's chambers, Arthur following on his heels.

They lay him down on Gaius's bed in the main room. Gaius and Gwen had worked hard through the afternoon and evening preparing for their patient; there were bandages, warm water, and many bottles of herbs at the ready.

Gaius' expression was stern as he removed the makeshift bandages. When they had been removed he looked hard at the oozing wound beneath.

"I'd say an arrow wound," he declared quietly. "Two days old from the look of it. I can't believe he survived that long. Gwen, pass me those yellow bottles. Arthur, grab that wet cloth and wipe his brow. He's got a fever, of course; let's try to keep him cool."


End file.
